


Felled In The Night

by FionaNotJuliet



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Emissary!Stiles, Everyone is Dead, Future Fic, Gen, Older Stiles, implied sciles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaNotJuliet/pseuds/FionaNotJuliet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hind sight, Stiles should have realized that as bad as things were, they could definitely get much worse. But his dad had always helpfully quoted, “Hind sight is 20/20, son.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Felled In The Night

It had been over two decades since Stiles had suggested to Scott that they search for a dead body in the woods. Twenty years since that fateful night that twisted their lives into some B horror movie. It had all changed the moment that Scott was bitten by an Alpha werewolf.

In hind sight, Stiles should have realized that as bad as things were, they could definitely get much worse. But his dad had always helpfully quoted, “Hind sight is 20/20, son.”

He’d hated that quote growing up, so it figured that it would end up being his newest motto.

—

Stiles released a heavy sigh as he realized that history was repeating itself. A dead body. Kids messing around in the woods. Of course a new werewolf was made that night.

A quick consult call with Chris helped to confirm every one of Stiles’ fears. The Beacon of Beacon Hills had sent out its first broadcast.

—

The poor kid couldn’t have been more than 15. ‘Did we look that young?’ Stiles idly thought to himself as he watched the boy and his friend try to figure out his new powers.

Stiles understood, now, why Deaton had waited to reveal himself as someone who actually understood the supernatural rules. It was painful, reliving the past in almost perfect order. He’d done his duty for this town and he was so tired.

But he knew he couldn’t leave. He tried, several times. He had turned his back on this god forsaken town but he was always pulled back by that damned Tree.

—

Stiles had finally been forced to show his hand, let the kid, Jason, know that he was very aware of the supernatural. The teen was skeptical but was more than willing to take whatever help he could with controlling his powers and stopping the latest Alpha terrorizing Beacon Hills.

It hurt more than Stiles had originally thought it would, talking about those first few years in the pack. But once he started telling Jason and his friend about his own adventures, the words kept tumbling out. From Druids to Kanimas to Dread Doctors. He told them almost everything.

He wanted to be a different emissary than what Deaton was to Scott. It was better for these kids to know just what they had gotten themselves into.

—

The town of Beacon Hills knew that the newest Sheriff was a quiet man, though if the rumors were to be believed, he was once a very talkative young soul. They say it had all changed ten years ago. Something terrible had changed him.

—

Stiles sat in the cruiser, preparing himself for the drive he made weekly. He thought that after ten years, it would get easier, but it never did. And he always felt more ridiculous for assuming that it would get easier when there was too much evidence to the contrary.

After the short fifteen minute ride, Stiles pulled up to the local cemetery. It was the other reason he kept coming back to Beacon Hills. His family was here.

He walked along the rows of graves, stopping at the familiar spot. He carefully cleaned off the two stones before sitting. “Hey mom. Hey dad,” he said, always beginning with the same greeting.

Once he finished speaking with his parents, Stiles made his way through the winding rows stopping briefly at certain stones: Erica Reyes. Vernon Boyd IV. Allison Argent.

Sometimes he would find himself stopping at the Hale plot, long since over grown. Occasionally, he would be lucky enough to find a single flower, un wilted, signaling that one of the few surviving Hale’s had been through town. They never stopped to see him.

It was the last stop before he left the cemetery, and it was always rough. He sat down by the headstone, fingers running over the name: Scott McCall.

—

Maybe Beacon Hills was cursed. Or maybe it was just Stiles. Perhaps there was a rule somewhere that said emissaries were not allowed real happiness. It explained why Deaton stopped practicing for so long once Talia Hale died.

Unfortunately, Stiles didn’t have that luxury once his Alpha died. His best friend, gone like that. Stiles had still had a duty to fulfill; keeping the Nemeton quiet. But that had only worked for so long.

Stiles shook his head as he thought back to his last days of high school and how afraid he was to end up alone. It was irony at it’s finest work that it only took ten years for everyone he loved to either die or move away, like he wished he had.

Hind sight really was 20/20.


End file.
